Dispossessed
by steelcrash
Summary: Losing Rose's affection and becoming disheartened with Pete's World, the meta-crisis Doctor makes a decision that will affect his fate and that of Donna Noble forever.
1. Chapter 1

The Dispossessed

Prologue

I do not own "Doctor Who." That belongs to the BBC. Consider it and a few characters borrowed until the end of the story.

Standing under the stars, looking up instead of being out there, among them. Locked inside his own head, cut off from the universe, trapped inside a corporeal, aging body, dying by inches. He closed his eyes, remembering what it felt like, searching for the song of the Void, knowing he would never touch it again. That too, he remembered, the sound, the song with him since birth, his inheritance as a Time Lord. But no more. He was cut off from the Void, trapped in a dead universe.

He opened his eyes, stared up at the stars, proof the universe was not dead. It wasn't dead, just wrong. The wrong universe. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong life. Wrong everything. Only one thing could correct it all--the right heart beating next to his own. But it was lost on the other side, sealed off from this reality, and nothing would bring it back.

-----

Chapter 1

He was late for work again, but it was a Friday, so it didn't really matter. He rolled into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, scrubbing at his face. He was more than late, actually. He wasn't going in at all today. He stood, picked up the clothes he'd discarded the night before, threw them on the bed. He shucked off his pajama bottoms, pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, padded downstairs to the kitchen. Mercifully, this time of morning, Jackie Tyler was gone, having taken her toddler son, Tony, to the library for story time.

Jackie Tyler in a library. Who would've thought? He allowed himself a wry grin as he opened the refrigerator, stared at its contents. Nothing looked good, but then again, nothing had in a very long time.

"You're ruining food."

He snapped around, seeing Pete Tyler standing behind him.

"Son. . .John, I. . ."

"What am I still doing here? That's a good question. A really good question, one I'm still trying to answer," he said. "Existential even. Wow. Haven't had a thought that deep in ages."

Pete smiled at the younger man. "I was just surprised to see you up this early, that's all," he said.

"Yeah, me too."

"Now that you're up, we need to talk," Pete said.

"About?"

"You know what," Pete said. "You. Rose. Everything."

"Oh, that," the man now known as John Smith said, mussing his own hair. "Yeah."

Great. Just great. Brilliant. Rose. No longer a happy thought. Guess the reckoning is here, he mused. He and Rose slept under the same roof, but didn't share a bed. Not anymore. They kept up appearances, but that was all. Pete and Jackie let him stay. He appreciated that, that they actually liked him, as opposed to letting him stick around out of pity. Now, that was probably coming to an end.

"Come on. You're going in with me to Torchwood. We can talk on the way."

-----

Two weeks later

London

Donna Noble reached into her bag, digging around for a book, the one Nerys loaned her. "The Journal of Impossible Things," a book she *just* had to read. Except Nerys' copy went missing, thanks to Donna's mother. She'd called it "rubbish" and she didn't need to read it, substituting a copy of "Pride and Prejudice." For some reason, she was hankering for Agatha Christie instead. She crossed the street, popped into the book shop, bought her own copy of the journal, as well as a couple of dog-eared Agatha Christie novels for later. Happy she finally had the books she wanted, including the constantly going missing journal, Donna ordered her latte, sat down, ready to flip open the book and read it.

Except she suddenly found her latte spilled across the book.

"Rubbish, absolute rubbish, that."

Donna looked up, eyes locking on those belonging to the culprit who spilled her drink on her new book.

"That was a brand new book, and you owe me a drink," she snapped, picking up the soaking book.

"Yeah, no problem," the man said, taking a seat across from her. "Tea? Another coffee? Or a real drink, say later today, or tonight, or Friday or whenever tickles your fancy?"

Donna found herself taking a long look at the jackass who ruined her book. Skinny. Way too skinny. Pale, with freckles. Definitely needed sun. Brown hair going a hundred different directions but somehow, it suited him. Quirky smile. And his eyes. . .something about them seemed familiar. But that was crazy, wasn't it?

"So, about that drink?" he asked again, snapping her back to reality.

"Drink? Oh yes, a drink. In your dreams, papercut," she said, standing, walking out of the shop in a huff.

John Smith, formerly known as the Doctor, grinned. Things were going fantastic.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dispossessed

Chapter 2

I do not own "Doctor Who." That belongs to the BBC. Consider it and a few characters borrowed until the end of the story.

Sylvia Noble knew there was something wrong with her daughter the instant she let herself in the front door, threw down her bag and made straight for the kitchen without a hello. Taking a chance, Sylvia followed Donna into the kitchen, where the younger woman was pulling out a mug and everything else she needed for tea.

"How was the interview?" Sylvia asked, stepping out of Donna's way. She'd been gone much longer that day than the length of time needed for the job interview. And these days, considering everything that had happened recently, if Donna was out of her sight for very long, Sylvia worried.

"Well, that part of the day went fine," Donna said. "Great, actually. Better than expected. Way better. Got the job, by the way."

"What?" Sylvia asked.

".." Donna said, turning around to face her mother. "So no more temping. Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Donna said, hugging Donna, who accepted the hug. "You know, I'm proud of you, really. I know the job isn't exactly what you wanted, but it's a start, and everything, so it's a chance to work your way up. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. . ."

"Shut up while you're ahead," Donna said.

"All right," Sylvia said, sitting down at the kitchen table. "So, how was the rest of your day?"

Donna frowned, taking a seat. No getting out of this one, but at least her mother would now be off her back about having a job again. A secretarial job for a small, privately-funded relief organization. Helping save the world in her own small way, even if it was filing, answering the phone and what not. And it would get her out of the house eight or more hours a day.

"Bought a few books at the shop this afternoon," Donna said. "Nothing exciting, just a few Agatha Christie novels."

"Did you find the book I put in your bag?" Sylvia asked.

"Yeah, thanks. Jane Austen? Really. . ."

"It's a good book, one I enjoyed when I was young," Sylvia said.

"Want it back?" Donna said.

"If you insist, I'll take it back," Sylvia said, hoping Donna would not pick up another copy of that accursed journal.

"Anything else exciting happen?"

"Only had a moron spill my coffee all over," Donna said.

"Was it a man?" Sylvia said.

"Yeah, but don't get all worked up. He wasn't my type. Did try and ask me out though. He was kind of nice about that, and spilling my drink," Donna said.

"And you didn't give him your number?"

"I just met the man, and he didn't even give me his name," Donna said. "Anyway, he was too skinny. Nice eyes though."

"At least you have something nice to say about someone," Sylvia said. "Come on now, you can help me fix dinner."

-----

A place to live and gainful employment were no longer an issue. For that, John was thankful. Home was now a small flat over a pub frequented by one Wilfred Mott. He wasn't going to reveal himself to Wilf just yet. No, he needed a little time to settle in, get used to his new lot in life yet again. And his job. . .oh dear. . .selling books and making coffee in a certain little shop preferred by the illustrious Donna Noble. Not exactly very Time Lordish, but it was a start. No need to draw unwanted attention to himself. He only wanted to fit in, as much as he could, but John knew the universe had ways of compensating. Once, he was anything but ordinary except now, it was all he wanted. That and a loud-mouthed ginger woman back in his life. He'd have it, only it would take time and patience. At least that's all he hoped it would take.

-----

Monday. Donna hated Mondays. Hated them with a passion. Rain made it even better she thought, as she stepped inside the book shop. It was on her way to work, and she had time to spare, and she really wanted a muffin so she stepped into line, contenting herself with waiting patiently for her turn to place her order. Five people and 10 minutes later, she was up to the counter, waiting for the barrista to take her order.

"Hello, good morning, my name is John and what would you like. . ." he trailed off, seeing Donna. Donna with that look on her face. The one from right before she always used to slap him. His cheeriness went away for a fraction of a section, quickly replaced by a grin. "So, we meet again."

"Yeah. Going to spill coffee on _me_ this time?" Donna asked.

"I'll try not to," he said. "That comes out of my paycheck."

"Nice, papercut, so are you going to take my order or not?" Donna said.

"What will it be this lovely morning, ma'am?" John said.

Donna rolled her eyes. Lovely? "One blueberry muffin."

"That's all?" John said.

"That's all."

He reached into the pastry rack beside him, pulled out a muffin, dropped it into a sack for her.

"How much?" Donna said.

"For you, on the house," he said. "It'll just have to come out of my paycheck."

Donna snatched the sack from his proffered hand, turned on her heel, sighed. She stopped, turned back.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," John said. "Now, about that drink. . ."

Donna walked away, kept walking, but she had a smile on her face. She was not going to let papercut. . .John, see it yet.


	3. Chapter 3

The Dispossessed

Chapter 3

I do not own "Doctor Who." That belongs to the BBC. Consider it and a few characters borrowed until the end of the story.

Sleep. Needing so much of it was an adjustment. Not sleeping at the moment, but staring up at the ceiling. And the dreams. . .dreams of darkness, burning, being lost. Not his own dreams, but Donna's. John knew she was lost, didn't remember. Shouldn't be, but it was, across dimensions. Separating them was the catalyst for her condition, why the Doctor had to wipe her mind. If only he'd left them together. . .one mind, two bodies. He rolled over on his side, shuddering as the memory of what happened filled his mind, hugging his pillow.

The beach in Norway, Bad Wolf Bay. Standing there with Rose and her family, waiting for the breach between worlds to close, still touching Donna's mind. Hearing his other self telling her she would die if she continued on with a Time Lord consciousness, trying to reach out, falling as he burned with her. Then nothing. Nothing for months and months. More than a year of trying to learn to live without the Void, the other half of himself. If only the Doctor hadn't been so hasty to dump him in Pete's world and make his retreat away from Rose, he could've explained that he and Donna shouldn't have been separated. A Time Lord mind split between the two of them worked. Separating them nearly killed them both.

She needed him and he needed her. John had yet to work out how to make her remember, but he would. He believed that. He held onto that, because he had nothing else to hold on to. Not anymore. That's what made it so easy to leave Rose. He loved her, but not like she needed and deserved. And she'd moved on, in the end, finding someone else. She was happy, that was all he needed to know, but that didn't matter anymore. Only the here and now did.

-----

Donna tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She sighed, sitting up, glancing at the clock on her night stand. 3 a.m. She dropped back onto her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Strange dreams. Always strange. Not frightening, just unusual, of things not remembered, like she was seeing something out of the corner of her eye, but if she looked dead on, nothing was there.

She tossed off the covers, standing, padding down to her grandfather's room. Donna didn't knock, just let herself in. She sat down on the side of the bed.

Wilf was waiting. Every night for the past year, about the same time, Donna would come in, sit down, and they'd talk. Most nights. Some nights he would sit there and hold his granddaughter's hand, until she got up and went back to her own room.

"Sweetheart, you all right?" Wilf asked.

"Yeah, granddad, fine. Just. . .you know. . .those dreams again," Donna said. "You'd think they'd be going away by now, but doctors. I guess they're never right."

"Not all of them get things wrong," Wilf said, rolling his eyes at the irony.

Donna snorted. "Five doctors in 12 months and none of them can tell me why I have holes in my memories," she said. "Sometimes I think if I think hard enough, it will all come back. . ."

"It might, sweetheart. Don't dwell on it. It will be all right," Wilf said. "It's all right, isn't it? Life, I mean, for you. Better, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I guess. I like my new job, and I even found someone who wants to take me out," Donna said.

"Nice man?" Wilf said.

"Seems like it. Bit skinny though," Donna said.

Wilf smiled. "Well, if you do decide to go out with this new man, bring him around so I can tell him what's what," he said.

"Sure thing," Donna said, reaching over, giving Wilf a quick peck on the cheek. "'Night, granddad."


	4. Chapter 4

The Dispossessed

Chapter 4

I do not own "Doctor Who." That belongs to the BBC. Consider it and a few characters borrowed until the end of the story.

John tried convincing himself he wasn't being evil. Devious and underhanded, yes. Anything giving him a valid excuse to see Donna was justifiable in his mind. Convincing his boss was the hard part, but being his charming, stubborn self, he won that round. So no he was making the rounds on his lunch hour, dropping off business cards and free samples of the coffee shop's wares to surrounding businesses, hoping to drum up more traffic and well. . .business for the shop.

His last stop was where Donna worked. He let himself in the door, smiled when seeing she sat at the front desk, chatting into the headset she was wearing. John sat his basket down on the counter separating him from her work space. He leaned on it, hoping to catch her attention.

". . .no, I can't guarantee anyone can see you tomorrow, or even by the end of the week. Yes, that's right. Monday at the earliest. 8 a.m. See you then," she finished, pulling off her earpiece and shaking her head in frustration. "Some people. . .

"Yeah, people. The planet's just filled with them, and you can't move without tripping over someone," John said.

She frowned, then recognition hit, as she gave him a small smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to increase business at the shop," John said, handing his basket to her. "Not much left but you can pick what you want, or you can come by later if you haven't had your break and join me on mine at 3:30 and have something on me."

"Ate my lunch here a half-hour ago because half the staff's off with the flu, and I'm manning the desk here as you can see, so no break later," Donna said.

"Right," John said, taking back the basket. "Sorry to bother you then."

"But I do get off early today, we're closing up because so many people are sick," she said. "So I will see you later. Papercut."

She didn't say anything more, just went back to work. He walked out, a spring in his step that wasn't there before.


End file.
